6 Poems About Burnout
When You Ask How I’m Holding Up, I Want To Say This
The Fringes Of Society Are The Center
A to Z
Why I Refuse To Quit the Cello
7 min read
I had slammed a door on the purest part of my soul. And for what? Like a baby crying out for its mother, I had denied its outstretched arms, turned the key, and plugged my ears to the cries.
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